“I know!” Hela’s voice suddenly rose.
“The price that you and I paid together!
I personally slew the Fire Giant King of Muspelheim, I personally ended the frost beast tide of Jotunheim, and I personally severed the head of the High Priest of Vanaheim—these were all accomplished together by you and me!
And precisely because I know how great the price was, I am all the more clear that these prices cannot be in vain!”
“They are not in vain!
The Nine Realms now submit to Asgard, and this is the result exchanged for that price!”
“And then?” Hela took a step forward, the tip of her sword pointing straight at Odin’s chest.
“Beyond the Nine Realms are vaster starry domains!
Beyond the Nine Realms, countless Worlds await our conquest!
Why stop here?
Why—”
“Because Asgard needs to recuperate!” Odin’s voice finally rose as well, an eruption of anger that had accumulated for too long finally breaching the embankment.
“Can you not see that our warriors are already exhausted?
Can you not see that our resources are already stretched thin?
Can you not see that continuing to campaign will only drag down the entire Realm of Gods?”
“That is a problem with your arrangements!” Hela did not retreat a single step, “If you could allocate resources reasonably, if you could continue to push forward instead of hesitating here—”
“Hela!” Odin’s angry shout exploded like thunder, and the air of the entire training ground vibrated because of it.
At that instant, Asat Pramad clearly felt Odin’s divine power erupt like a tsunami and quickly recede.
“Enough!” Odin’s voice returned to a low rumble, but that lowness carried something even more dangerous.
“I command you, shut up.”
Hela looked at him.
Her sword tip was still pointing at Odin, the light on the sword body still flowing, but her hand was trembling slightly.
That trembling was not out of fear, but rather the suppression of anger having reached its extreme yet unable to be released.
“You command me?” Hela repeated those three words, her voice as light as a whisper.
“I am your King.”
“You are my father.”
“I am your father, but I am also your King.” Odin tightened his grip on the Eternal Spear, golden light flowing across his palm.
“And right now, you are simultaneously defying your King and your father.”
Hela did not speak.
She just stood there, her sword pointing at Odin.
The light in her gaze gradually turned from scorching to icy, from anger gradually to disappointment, and from disappointment gradually precipitating into something even more resolute.
“I understand.” She finally spoke, her voice regaining its calm, but that calm was more terrifying than any anger.
She withdrew her longsword, turned around, and strode out of the training ground.
Her pace was steady and decisive, every step planted firmly and powerfully.
Her dark green cloak fluttered behind her, and without looking back, she disappeared into the light and shadow at the exit of the training ground.
Odin stood in place, watching her back disappear.
Countless complex emotions churned within that single eye of his.
He opened his mouth, seeming to want to call her back, but in the end, no sound came out.
He only gripped the Eternal Spear hard, his knuckles turning white, and then slowly lowered his arm, turning to walk in the opposite direction.
The training ground returned to silence.
Only the sword scars covering the ground and the lingering energy in the air that had yet to dissipate proved that the fierce argument just now had truly occurred.
Asat Pramad emerged from the shadows at the top of the training ground.
He crouched on the roof beams, that die rotating slowly, its purple light flickering like a will-o’-the-wisp in the dim corner.
“The time has come.” He said softly.
This argument was different from all previous ones.
Asat Pramad keenly captured the resolution contained in Hela’s final sentence.
“That was not merely saying ‘I understand your position,’ but even more so saying ‘I understand that there is no room for redemption between us anymore.'”
This meant that Hela had already made her final decision.
Asat Pramad stood up and leaped lightly from the roof beams.
His White tailcoat fluttered slightly the moment he landed.
He straightened the bowtie at his collar and then strode in the direction where Hela had left.
He did not need to follow too closely; he had enough patience to wait.
Sure enough, that night Hela did not return to her bedchamber, but instead passed through Asgard’s underground passage and entered a forgotten region deep within the continent.
Asat Pramad followed her, maintaining just the right distance.
That region was completely different from Asgard’s magnificent surface; the walls here were crude rock faces, the passages narrow and winding, and the air permeated with a damp and ancient aura.
Hela threaded through the darkness, her divine power illuminating the path ahead, the dark green light casting flowing shadows against the rock walls.
She finally stopped in front of a huge stone gate.
That stone gate was fully ten meters tall, its surface covered with ancient Asgard runes.
Those runes exuded a dim fluorescent glow in the darkness, resembling eyes that had slumbered for a thousand years slowly opening.
Hela pressed her hand against the center of the stone gate, and her divine power surged into the rune array.
A muffled roar came from the stone gate, and then it slowly slid open to both sides.
Behind the gate was a massive underground space.
Asat Pramad stood in the dark, looking toward the scene inside the gate.
Even though he had already witnessed all kinds of strange scenes in the Honkai: Star Rail Universe, at this moment he could not help but slightly narrow the facets on that die.
That was an underground fortress.
The large-scale Death Legion was neatly arrayed within the huge cavern.
Those warriors were clad in dark armor, holding spears and shields, their faces hidden beneath helmets, where only ghost-green flames could be seen burning in their hollow eye sockets.
Tens of thousands of Undead Warriors stood in silence, resembling a forest slumbering in the darkness, waiting for a certain signal to awaken them.
At the end of the cavern stood a high platform, upon which rested a seat carved from black rock.
Carved into the back of the seat was a huge rune—that was the emblem of the Goddess of Death, Hela.
Hela walked through those silent Undead Warriors, her pace composed and solemn, as if walking within her own throne room.
She walked up to the high platform, did not sit upon that seat, but instead turned to face the endless darkness within the cavern.
The corners of her lips were pursed tightly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and dark green light slowly flowed around her body, illuminating the scorching heat of that long-suppressed flame in her eyes finally being released.
Her heart was beating fast; she had already made her decision, but when it was truly time to execute that decision, some instinct was still tugging at her will.
That was awe toward her father, loyalty deeply rooted in her bloodline, and memories of walking hand-in-hand through the corridors of the Golden Palace during her childhood.
Those things intertwined with her ambition, her unwillingness, and her anger toward Odin’s decision, churning within her chest like a tsunami.